


Kept Waiting

by ziskandra



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Face-Sitting, Femdom, Orgasm Delay, Porn with Feelings, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27352801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziskandra/pseuds/ziskandra
Summary: It’s no secret that the Teyrna is the one truly in charge of the teyrnir (and its Teyrn).
Relationships: Celia Mac Tir/Loghain Mac Tir
Comments: 9
Kudos: 11
Collections: Femdom Exchange 2020





	Kept Waiting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inquisitor_tohru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitor_tohru/gifts).



It is on the eve of his return to Denerim that Loghain finds himself bound and naked, limbs tied to the bedposts as his wife’s eyes rake over his body. To this day, he still doesn’t truly understand what she gets out of this indecent, indecorous, display. He just knows it brings her pleasure and that knowledge alone is enough to secure his involvement.

Besides, his cock never fails to swell under the intensity of her gaze. It juts out, needy and wanting, towards his belly, precome pooling at the tip even though Celia has yet to even touch him, only look.

“I think it’s high time you gave me a proper farewell, my lord.”

His straining erection twitches at the formal address, confused and aroused in equal measure. Maker knows that Celia shares his dislike for titles, still struggles with the elevation to nobility much like he had, and still does. His voice is rougher than he anticipates when he speaks. “What do you mean, my lady?” The words flow out of him before he can quite stop himself.

His confusion is genuine, in any case: Celia is still mostly dressed. She’d kicked her shoes off once they’d entered their chambers, but she is still wearing one of her everyday modest dresses, with all the layers that entails. Oh, it’s exquisitely well-tailored, gathered under the bust and at the waist, drawing attention to the curves that Loghain has etched into his memory, into the back of his eyelids; the contours of his wife’s body more familiar than those of his favourite maps. Yet, it is still a maddening amount of fabric. He wants to rip the dress away from her body like a re-enactment of their wedding night, which is probably why Celia’s developed a fondness for trussing him up like a prize hunting trophy of late.

He needs to learn patience, she says, and she’s probably right.

“I mean,” Celia starts as she kneels on the edge of the bed, straddling his legs as she begins to move up his body, “that you ought to give me an experience to remember you by.” It is only as her hips shift briefly over his aching cock does he realise she is not wearing any smalls. The realisation threatens to drive him over the brink; fortunately, he manages to catch himself just in time, focuses his attention upon recalling the lingering stench of the mabari kennels so he does not disappoint his wife.

His hands tighten into fists as all his body’s built up tension desperately seeks an outlet. He knows he could break out of the bindings if he wanted, but he doesn’t.

He wants to please her.

It is obvious what she intends as she continues to crawl over him, her hands mapping the planes of his chest before moving even further upwards still. She lifts the hem of her skirts as she settles above his face, dropping the fabric around his head so all he can see and smell and feel is _her_.

Maker, he could die like this, and he would die a happy man.

He begins with one tentative lick against her cunt, tongue pressing against the bundle of sensitive flesh just above her entrance. He wishes his hands were free so he could provide additional stimulation, crook his fingers inside her until his skin wrinkles with the dampness of her arousal.

But it’s obvious from the set-up of the situation that she’s eager to draw the whole experience out and who is he to do anything other than oblige? Celia grinds down against his mouth, pressing and demanding. Loghain gets to work, his eyes shutting as he loses himself in the moment, experiments with which curls of his tongue produce the most noises in the back of his wife’s throat. Her hands fist in his hair like she’s holding on for balance and the sharp, then dull, pulse of pain against his scalp maybe shouldn’t send a renewed wave of arousal through his body but it _does_.

He knows she’s close when she begins to chant his name like a mantra. _Loghain, Loghain, Loghain,_ she says, tugging his hair even more tightly as he coaxes her over her peak. How he wishes he could feel her pulsing around him! But this night is not about him, his desires, and he must satisfy himself with being able to taste the heady scent of her arousal. His tongue slows as he helps her ride out the final wave of her climax and once she is done, she rolls off of him, curls herself underneath his shoulder.

There is nothing Loghain wants more than to gather her in his arms, and then fuck her into the mattress. Perhaps in that order, perhaps not. But he is not the one in control here – has he _ever_ truly been, where Celia is concerned? From the moment they’d met, and she’d shamed him and screamed at him for living in his decrepit outside like a vagrant, he’d felt compelled to follow her every instruction.

Perhaps this was a way of curtailing his stubbornness. Maker knows Celia had certainly called him churlish and pig-headed on any number of occasions. “Did I satisfy you, my love?” Loghain asks as Celia drums her fingers against the hollow of his chest. His erection had flagged somewhat when he had been fixated on his task, but now, with the casual intimacy of his wife’s touch against his skin, he is at full-mast once more.

Celia looks up at a him with a flutter of her eyelashes, a sly smile playing upon her features. “It was sufficient,” she says, and Loghain snorts. His ego does not bruise easily. She pushes herself up onto the heel of her hands, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. The brief and fleeting contact is maddening. “Besides. I’m not done with you yet.”

Before Loghain has time to blink or consider his wife’s words, her hand is at the base of his cock, has begun to pump it slowly. A low rumble escapes his chest.

“Woman, you are a temptress,” he says.

She laughs. “I know,” she answers, self-assured and satisfied. He can’t help himself: he ruts into her hand like a young lad having his first tumble in the hay, not the full-grown man that he is. Her movements grow even more maddeningly slow. “Patience,” she admonishes, before removing her hand entirely and leaning down to press her lips to the tip of his shaft, sucking up the precome that has gathered. He only barely manages to resist the urge to buck into her face.

The contact doesn’t last nearly anywhere as long as he would like. Once she has swallowed, she withdraws from the bed completely, standing up and smoothing her skirts. “I have some matters to which I must attend,” she tells him, and she must see the way his gaze drifts to his bindings, as she lets out a brief and airy chuckle. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back within the hour. I won’t keep you waiting anywhere near as long as you did me.”

It is only as he watches his wife’s retreating back does he manage to puzzle together what is actually happening, what sets today apart from all the other times they have engaged in this sort of encounter together.

He will be returning to Denerim on the morrow, and for the first time, he will be taking their daughter with him.

*

Loghain doesn’t know how long he spends alone on the bed, tied up and spread out for Celia’s amusement. Only that his cock, wavering in its attentions as he waits, stiffens firmly upright the moment his wife re-enters the room. She’s changed out of the simple dress she was wearing earlier, and into one that resembles what she’d been wearing that day they’d recited their vows for one another, and for the Maker. The neckline is cut at that delicate precipice between titillating and modest – perhaps too low for most noble weddings, but Celia hadn’t been a Teyrna then, not yet. He wants nothing more than to bury his face between her breasts, but he cannot move.

It is, of course, not the _same_ dress. That dress she’d worn that day had been good for little more than patchwork once Loghain had been done with it. Speaking of scraps, he notices now that Celia is holding a spare length of dark material in one hand, and as she approaches the bed, Loghain wordlessly lifts his head so that she might wrap it around his eyes.

“You remember your place,” Celia says, delighted, as she tightens the blindfold with a knot not dissimilar to the ones she’d used to bind his limbs.

His mouth feels strangely dry, so he can merely nod. Of course he remembers: his place is exactly wherever Celia wants him to be. “Patience,” she reminds him, pressing a soft kiss against his forehead. He relaxes into the gentle gesture and closes his eyes against the soft silk of the blindfold. It’s not like he can see anything anyway.

It feels strangely comforting to be under Celia’s command like this. When he is away in Denerim, there is no-one present to keep him in line. A less knowing man might suggest that it is the King’s role to guide his general, but anyone who knows Loghain and Maric would find the idea most laughable indeed.

Everywhere else in his life, Loghain must be in control, must not let down his defences. Only alone with his wife in their bedroom can he truly be vulnerable. His beautiful, tempestuous wife. His wife, who had so recently stood before him looking like something out of not only his dreams, but his memories, before preventing him from gazing upon her like she deserves.

Celia takes her time with him. With his senses restricted so, it is difficult to deduce where she will trail her kisses next. There’s a scar on his chest from before their marriage, before the rebellion, that Celia is always enamoured by. She follows its path softly with one of her fingers before tracing it again with her tongue. The material of her dress grazes his cock and he feels dangerously close to spilling over just from that briefest of contact: his arousal has been kept kindled for too long.

She’s also fascinated by his nipples, a fact which never ceases to mystify him, because they are more or less useless, especially when compared to her own.

Maker, he’s going to come just from thinking about his wife’s breasts, isn’t he? He supposes there are worse fates in life. As he lets out a deep and guttural groan, Celia covers his lips with her own, kissing him soundly. He wants to run his hands over her body, through her hair. He wonders how much longer she’ll keep him bound like this. What had she said before? Something about waiting… what if this was all some elaborate ploy to keep him in Gwaren? What if she never had any intention of untying him this time?

The spiral of paranoid thoughts is intently interrupted when Celia breaks the kiss, whispers over the shell of his ear, “I want you inside me. You want to be inside me, don’t you?” Like he has any ability to assist in the matter. Like there’s anything in the world he could want _more_.

“Celia, please.” Loghain is not usually the type of man to beg, but he’ll make an exception in this instance.

She lifts a knee and straddles his thighs. She’s so close now that his whole body craves her. He still doesn’t break through his bonds, though. He’s come too far to give up so easily. Instead, he waits, because there is nothing else for him to do. “Please what?” Celia asks as he feels one of her hands cup the side of her face.

He groans. She’s really going to make him say it, isn’t she? “Please fuck me,” he pleads, eyes scrunching underneath the blindfold, like he almost can’t believe he’s being reduced to this. But only almost. He’d do anything for his wife, except neglect his duty to the king.

On the brink of epiphany, everything seems to happen very quickly. Celia adjusts her weight and then her hand is at the base of his shaft, holding him in place even more as she guides his cock inside her. The noise that escapes him now can barely be described as human. She doesn’t move just yet, however, and there is little Loghain can do to seek his pleasure except thrust shallowly into her from below, which is utterly juvenile, so he doesn’t. 

Her hand shifts to his chest again, maddeningly tracing the scar once more. “I need you to promise me something,” she says, her voice devoid of its usual teasing, steadier than it has been the entire evening.

“Anything,” Loghain rasps, before the fear of whatever promise she might extract from him has a chance to settle in.

She begins to move, slowly, tortuously, and if the rustling sounds of fabric don’t deceive him, nor the changing of her breathing, she’s _touching_ herself. Maker’s breath. He’s really not going to last long at all. “Write me,” she implores, and when Loghain opens his mouth to argue he feels a finger upon his lips. “Shh,” she says, like he’s going to continue talking now. “More than last time. You owe me.”

If Loghain had to choose just one trait of Celia’s he loved above all others, it was that she never settled for less than what she wanted. “Yes,” he promises, “Of course.” He has never been good at writing letters, especially not more intimate ones which might suit being received by one’s wife, but for Celia, he can try. “How many?” he asks, because he has always performed better when he is aware of the expectations put upon him.

“At least once a month,” Celia answers, and she can feel the movement of her hand speed up even though her pace up and down his cock is still languidly slow. Not that he can blame her for taking care of herself first. _Once a month_ … does she truly have such little faith in him? He has not been as communicative as he could have been in the past, but he resolves that it will be different this time. Celia will be alone, but he does not wish for her to be lonely, even if he had previously thought that interaction with her extended family, and her responsibilities in the teyrnir would keep her busy.

“Once a month. At least,” he agrees, mouth dry again as Celia finally, finally, begins fucking him in earnest, shifting her hips in order to hit that spot deep inside her; in combination with the movement of her fingers, she is soon clenching and heaving around him, hands braced against her shoulders as she rides out the waves of her climax, her mouth upon his once more, caught in a hungry kiss.

When she seems to notice she’s slowed down, she starts to up the pace again, and Loghain knows that this time, this is for _him_ , that she wants him to spill inside her, and he requires no further encouragement. With one final groan, he finds his release. It feels like it will never stop, considering how pent-up he is. Celia shoves his blindfold up with one hand. She’s smiling. He’s smiling. He could count the freckles on her face, if it were possible to count that high.

“Satisfactory,” she says with a laugh, a hand resting upon her abdomen. “With any luck, we might be able to give Anora a sibling yet.”

That could be a potential solution to their problems, but if Celia insists on every attempt being just like this one, she’s going to be the death of him yet. He almost tells her as much, but this doesn’t feel like the time. There’s a more important message that he wishes to convey – if only he could gather her up in his arms to deliver it! “I’ll miss you, too,” he confesses, and Celia grins.

“I know,” she says, which makes Loghain wonder why she went to such lengths to draw him out of him. “I should untie you now, hm?”

Loghain can’t help himself. He barks out of a laugh of his own. “Only if you’re done with me,” he answers, in the driest tone he can muster.

With seemingly great reluctance, Celia withdraws from him, up and away from his flagging cock. “I suppose I am. For now.” The twinkle in her eye is filled with promise for a _next time_ as she loosens the ropes on his wrists.

Maker have mercy, if this is how she decides to say goodbye, then he can only wonder what she might have in store for him upon his return.

He can scarcely wait. 


End file.
